


Danadinha Danada

by bloodontheground



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 03:22:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14608191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodontheground/pseuds/bloodontheground
Summary: Sweeney finds himself in the last place he'd ever thought he'd be.





	Danadinha Danada

**Author's Note:**

> Translations can be found in the endnotes, along with some additional information.

He’d seen lobsters look paler after being cooked. Squinting up at the person shouting what amounted to gibberish at him, Sweeney only made out the fact that they were selling piss-weak beer because the man practically handed it to him. Though he’d already drunk what amounted to a case’s worth, Sweeney still didn’t feel nearly banjoed enough to deal with the reality that had befallen him. 

It was one thing to be yanked from Ireland and made to seek out a new life in America, but to be dragged further south than he’d ever been, forced to sit and do nothing on one of the most crowded beaches in the world, all while he waited for Wednesday and Shadow to get a lead on some ocean goddess, was another thing entirely.

They’d told him to  _ have fun _ , as though he had any idea what that entailed beyond his usual pastimes of drinking, smoking, and fighting. There was the not-so-subtle hint that he find a pretty lass to lay with, but as he looked out at the sea of g-string bikinis, he realized quite quickly that he was somewhat out of his depth. Sure, he’d had his fair share of earthly pleasures, especially when he was younger, but seeing it all laid out on a sun-glazed platter was, for the first time in a long time...Overwhelming.

So he sat, shaded only partially by a flimsy umbrella, watching the ever-increasing crowd of beachgoers tanning, swimming, playing soccer, and strangely dancing on the beach. He’d never had heat stroke, but he was fairly certain he was cooking from the outside in.

“February should bring snow, not Dante’s fuckin’ inferno,” he muttered to himself as he fruitlessly applied another layer of sunscreen, knowing it wouldn’t do him any good. While everyone on the beach was a creamy caramel shade, seemingly anointed by Ra himself, Sweeney more closely resembled a candy cane. His shoulders red as Poppies, while his shins were still a nearly-blinding ivory that was repugnant to look at, even though he saw his own bare legs nearly every morning.

Lost in his own thoughts, Sweeney didn’t notice the woman approaching his spot in the sand. It wasn’t until her shadow mercifully blocked out the sun that he came back to himself and looked up.

“Tá parecendo um caranguejo cozido, meu filho. Sai do sol,” her voice was warm and rich, a compliment to the general setting they were in and held a bit of a laugh that she tried and failed to from bubbling up.

Holding his hands up helplessly, Sweeney shook his head.

“English?” She asked, no hint of an accent present as she got to her knees and then sat on her heels, picking up the bottle of sunscreen Sweeney had been using and looking at it with disapproval.

“This is too weak and bad for the environment. You need zinc or you’ll turn to leather,” she added, smiling up at him in what he knew to be pity.

“I think we’re a little past that, love,” Sweeney scoffed, shaking his head at the pain he knew he was in for once the sunburn really set it.

With her form shading the sun, Sweeney took a moment to truly look at the woman who’d decided to pick him out of the crowd. Voluptuous from head to toe, she had long dark curls with a hint of a blue undertone; it matched her bikini, a scandalous little number the color of the ocean itself. It was as if her skin were iridescent, the way it shone against the sun and cowrie shells were her only decoration amidst a sea of gold, silver, and other gaudy jewels that had no place on a beach. Her eyes were the showstoppers though. A rich golden brown, they managed to be more mesmerizing than even Sweeney was prepared for, and momentarily, he was entranced.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts and bring himself back to the present, he gave her one of his tight-lipped smiles.

“You’re Irish. Quite far from home, no?” She smirked, still trying to restrain her laugh at the picture he painted against his current backdrop.

“Aye, through and through. I don’t suppose you’ve come to offer any tips on how to treat third-degree burns, have ye?”

“I can offer some recommendations, yes. First off, no more of this,” she began, reaching for his beer and taking a sip before putting it behind her to warm in the sun. Were he not so miserable already, Sweeney would’ve taken greater offense, but a strange sense of calm blanketed him, causing only a grunt of protest to escape.

“ _ Agua de Côco  _ is your best friend in times like these.” Her smile was soothing as she lifted her hand, one of the beer sellers from earlier appearing at her side almost instantly.

“Duas águas de côco, por favor,” Sweeney watched as she paid the man with a bill from a bag he’d not noticed before. Intricate beading depicted an ocean scene, complete with dolphins, colorful fish, and seagulls flying overhead. Eyes narrowing, he let his mind tick through the description of the woman Shadow and Wednesday were after. Scrunching his nose, Sweeney kept the thought in the back of his mind, finding it all too easy. With everything that was happening, especially since Wednesday decided to go off the rails, he didn’t think any goddess in her right mind would put herself out in the open so frivolously. Always a cynic, he couldn’t help but think it a trap, her aura reminding him of the old tales of the  _ Murdúchann _ ; alluring, but deadly.

Sweeney couldn’t help but make a face when she handed him a literal coconut with a straw sticking out of it. “This isn’t water, love. This is…”

“Oh, shh, this has electrolytes and other nutrients you need to fend off the burns,” she tutted, shaking her head before taking a sip of her own coconut. “Drink. It won’t kill you, I promise,” she winked, and if Sweeney had his wits about him, he could have sworn her voice had grown even more sultry than before. Whatever she was angling for, he had a good idea how she planned to coax him into getting it. He couldn’t blame her, for it was a gift that was hard to master, and she might as well have been teaching a class on the subject.

“And if I still end up crispy?” He asked, arching one eyebrow, testing her.

“Then you apply this,” she answered with the same smartass look he’d been giving her, though her eyes still held the warmth and humor he’d now come to expect. Holding out a tub of what looked like face cream, she placed it in Sweeney’s upturned palm with confidence.

“Small problem, lass. I can’t exactly reach most of the spots where I’m toasted.”

“Well, if you ask  _ nicely _ , I could be persuaded…”

“Aye, I’m sure you could.” His own smile coming out for the first time all day, he took a deep, mock-suffering breath and straightened out his back.

“Could you please put the potion on me back,  _ Lemanjá _ ?”

Sure, it was a risk, calling her the name that Wednesday had drilled into his head before they’d so much as boarded the flight down, but it was one that could pay dividends if he were right. If he’d managed to not butcher the pronunciation, that was...

Her smile grew impish as she adjusted her position to kneel behind him. “How did you know,  _ Leprechaun _ ?”

“Yer practically givin’ away the farm, love. Not exactly subtle.”

“Says the only red-haired, pale-skinned man on the beach. You’re a walking billboard that says ‘I’m a tourist’, querido.” Her words earned another grunt of disdain from Sweeney, and though he’d deny it to the grave, he might have pouted a little.

“What’s a man like you doing on my beach?” She purred as she applied the cream, every inch of skin she touched immediately cooling and leaving Sweeney a little woozy from the relief that coursed through his nerves.

“Actually, I was looking fer you. Didn’t expect it’d be anywhere near as easy as just ploppin’ down on the beach though. Don’t you only make special appearances to gather yer gifts on New Year’s?”

“I’m...available when I’m needed.” She grinned, spreading the last of the buttery mixture onto his reddened skin, blowing gently on it after, the sensation of which made Sweeney arch his back and let out a noise he didn’t even know he could make.

“Give it a few minutes, and you’ll be good as new.”

 

________________

 

“What’s this?” Wednesday crowed as he and Shadow entered the  _ botequim _ , both men looking confused and a little shocked at the scene before them. 

 

Sweeney sat at one of the small corner tables at the back of the bar,  the soccer game playing on a small, boxy TV just over his head. A box fan worked overtime to try and blow out the humidity that hung in the air , but it only served to add to the cacophony that was the combination of the TV, the music that came through the tinny speakers in the ceiling, and the general discussions of older men who clearly had stakes in the game. Clad only in board shorts and an open, white button-down, Sweeney smiled smugly from his resting place on a pair of warm, supple breasts. The owner of said breasts sat in his lap, looking up at the men with the same impish smirk, both she and Sweeney clearly enjoying the confusion they’d caused. 

“This, lads, is Lemanjá. I believe she’s the water goddess you’ve been lookin’ fer?” His smile grew as he spoke the words, one hand sweeping up Lemanjá’s thigh, stopping only where her short sarong began. Preening as she played with the stray waves at the back of his neck, Sweeney waited as Shadow and Wednesday put two and two together. Wednesday let out a noise of exasperation, his mismatched eyes narrowing accusingly at Sweeney.

“So while we were searching for a way to contact--”

“Aye.”

“You were just sitting on the beach--”

“Aye.”

“And I take it you two have been--”

“Oh,  _ aye _ . I’ve been showin’ her what’s at the end of the rainbow, I ‘ave.” Sweeney let his smile go ear to ear as he nuzzled further into Lemanjá’s breasts, looking for all the world like a child who’d just finished a warm cup of milk and a goodnight story.

Shadow, although sore and tired from a day spent pounding the pavement in search of any real leads on the goddess, couldn’t help but grin.

“Luck of the Irish, huh.” He jerked his chin up at Sweeney, shaking his head in amusement.

Closing his eyes after giving Lemanjá a gentle squeeze around her waist, Sweeney could only grin.

“So I’ve been told.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tá parecendo um caranguejo cozido, meu filho. Sai do sol.  
> You look like a cooked crab, son. Get out of the sun.
> 
> Duas águas de côco por favor.  
> Two coconut waters, please.
> 
> Murdúchann.  
> Mermaid/Siren in Irish folklore.
> 
> Querido.  
> Dear.
> 
> Botequim.  
> The Brazilian equivalent to a dive bar.
> 
> Lemanjá.  
> A major water deity from the Yoruba religion. She is an orisha and the mother of all orishas, having given birth to the 14 Yoruba gods and goddesses. She is often syncretized with either Our Lady of Regla in the Afro-Cuban diaspora or various other Virgin Mary figures of the Catholic Church, a practice that emerged during the era of the Trans-Atlantic slave trade.  
> One of the major Orixás that followers of Candomblé worship in Brazil. Candomblé developed in a creolization of traditional Yoruba, Fon, and Bantu beliefs brought from West and Central Africa by enslaved captives in the Portuguese Empire. Between 1549 and 1888, the religion developed in Brazil, influenced by the knowledge of enslaved African priests who continued to teach their mythology, their culture, and language. In addition, Candomblé absorbed elements of Roman Catholicism and includes indigenous American traditions.
> 
> On New Year's Eve in Brazil, millions of Brazilians, of all religions, dressed in white gather on the beaches to greet the New Year, watch fireworks, and throw white flowers and other offerings into the sea for the goddess in the hopes that she will grant them their requests for the coming year. Some send their gifts to lemanjá in wooden toy boats. Jumping seven waves is also common. Paintings of lemanjá are sold in Rio shops, next to paintings of Jesus and other Catholic saints. They portray her as a woman rising out of the sea. Small offerings of flowers and floating candles are left in the sea on many nights at Copacabana.


End file.
